


The Lonesome Mouse

by van1lla_v1lla1n



Series: succession sprinkles [4]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Coercion, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Forced Masturbation, Humiliation kink, M/M, Pining, Semi-public masturbation, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, pre-slash Tom/Greg, s2e4 Safe Room, undernegotiated open marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/van1lla_v1lla1n/pseuds/van1lla_v1lla1n
Summary: Between Shiv's fucking around and the Hungarian hazing ritual and the protestors and anti-protestors outside and Shiv being in the office today observing for the job they’d discussed lininghimup for—everything felt a bit much. Tom had tried not to notice the way all that bullshit was seeping a slow drip of restless horniness into his bloodstream, but it hadn’t gone away.So there he was, an hour before his scheduled little talk with Mark Ravenhead, jerking off at his desk, when Gerri walked in.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans, Tom Wambsgans/Gerri Kellman
Series: succession sprinkles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011780
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	The Lonesome Mouse

**Author's Note:**

> please see endnotes for CWs (especially re: dubcon, if that's a concern for you; nb spoilers ahoy therein)

Tom didn’t normally do this. He really, really did not. It was just that it felt too pathetic to do it at home, where he should’ve been fucking Shiv, who was off fucking other people—actors and god knows what other bohemian types. Whoever Tom was decidedly not.

Between that and the Hungarian hazing ritual and the protestors and anti-protestors and anti-anti-protestors (probably, whatever) outside and Shiv being in the office today _observing_ for the job they’d discussed lining _him_ up for, everything felt a bit much. He’d tried not to notice the way all that bullshit was seeping a slow drip of restless horniness into his bloodstream, but it hadn’t gone away.

He’d taken his mood out a little on Cyd’s prime ass-kisser Jonah, using him as a footstool in a _jokey_ sort of way that inexplicably turned him on even more. And then Greg had come in, stood there staring nervously with his mouth guppied open, and Tom had worked so hard not to be enamored by the way his tongue moved in his mouth. Had worked so hard not to let it all go to his head, the sweet potency of sitting there with his shoes propped up on one man’s suited back and encouraging Greg, his adorably principled protégé, to do the same. Tom had failed, obviously, not to let it go to his head, had ended up kicking both men out when his traitor dick threatened to give him away.

And now here he was, an hour before his scheduled little talk with Mark Ravenhead, jerking off at his desk, because he apparently had the impulse control of a fifteen-year-old. He’d just decided he might as well fucking get into it, had just unzipped and taken his cock bare in hand.

And his door banged open. He scooted his chair up under his desk in a rush—not fast enough. Gerri shut the door behind her, stood there eyebrow raised.

“Busy?” she asked. Tom’s mouth emitted some absurd garbled sound, no words.

“Well, get on with it, Tom. Don’t let me stop you.” Tom held his dick in his hand under the desk, the other hand gripping the armrest, elbow tensed up at an awkward angle. He didn’t dare move.

“Gerri!” he said, wincing at how high his voice was. “I—that is, is this urgent?”

“It is, in fact. Regarding Ravenhead? Our mutually distasteful, possibly fascist acquaintance? You’re meeting him in—forty-five minutes, correct?”

“That’s, ah, as scheduled, yes,” Tom said. He cleared his throat. “Gerri, would it be possible to, ah—”

“Nope. Definitely not. Here’s how this is going to go, Tom. I need two things from you.”

“Right.”

“First, you’re going to jizz all over that awful suit.” Tom sat stunned, and Gerri continued. “Then you’re going to fire Ravenhead. Alright? Got it?”

“Gerri, my apologies here, but I’m not sure that—”

“Get on with it, Tom. You’ve got forty-three minutes, by my watch. Get yourself off and get cleaned up.” She sat down on the couch across from his desk, crossed her legs and her arms.

Tom didn’t normally masturbate in the office—okay, it had happened once or twice; who wouldn’t in a nice new office? But jerking off in front of someone else? Let alone a coworker? An ostensible superior? His erection was flagging, and the shame was stifling. Gerri clearly intended to sit there and watch him until he finished. He didn’t know if he _could_ finish like this. He could tell Gerri to fuck all the way off—he _could_ —but that would be admitting defeat.

And then Gerri started talking.

“Can’t you do this at home, Tom?” she asked, and looked out the window behind him. “Why do it in the office? Too embarrassing, to have to get yourself off because your hot rich wife won’t fuck you? Are you too traditional for her, Tom? Too nouveau riche? God, what an awful combination—old school, new money.”

Tom gritted his teeth, stared hard at the shitty painting above her head. He squeezed his dick, willing it to liven up so he could get this over with.

“Or is it because you’re thinking of someone else?” Gerri asked, tilting her head. Tom thought immediately of Greg’s floundering open mouth, blinked hard, didn’t respond.

“Ah, that’s it, huh? I know Shiv fucks around, but you? Didn’t know you had it in you, Tom. Whoever could it be?” Gerri was smirking now, squinting at him like she’d be able to read it on his face. Tom tried to reveal nothing, but it was understandably difficult, wasn’t it, to keep a straight face in such circumstances?

“Cyd?” she asked, and Tom grimaced. “Nope. _Aha_. It’s not Greg, Tom—is it?” Tom closed his eyes, stroking himself angrily under the desk, and cycled through split-second images of Greg’s mouth, Greg’s long fingers gesticulating feebly, Greg’s obnoxious beseeching doe eyes. He hated himself more every second, but it was helping, actually, and if it got him off faster, got him out of this ridiculous situation, maybe it was worth it.

“ _Greg_? Wow. Preying on the hapless youth, are we? Gotta take power where we can get it, hmm? You’re an utter piece of shit, Tom, you know that?” He did know that. And he’d also known Gerri was a stone-cold bitch, but not like this. Not in this meticulously eviscerating way.

“Hurry it up, alright? I’ve got shit to do. I can’t just sit here and watch you waggle your penis all afternoon,” she said. She’d settled back into the couch, crossed her ankles out in front of her. “Whatever you do, don’t think about Shiv fucking someone else, Tom. That actor? Yeah, I know about him. He’s hot shit, too. Doesn’t even own a TV, I heard. Probably has no idea who you are, never will. You’re nothing to him. Do you think that’s why Shiv fucked him?”

Tom was fuming, his humiliation running in hot rivulets down his spine, straight to his dick. He hated when he got like this, hated when someone saw straight through his façade and into his horny, needy guts. But his body fucking loved it, loved being _seen_ , even if it fucking hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to picture himself fucking Shiv, and couldn’t. He could only imagine what that actor might look like, how that hippie bastard might’ve fucked _his_ wife. Bad course of action. He gave up and thought of Greg instead.

Gerri resumed her joyous destruction of his spirit. “And don’t think about how vile you are, lusting over your fucking assistant—your wife’s _cousin_ , Tom? Fuck. Christ, I don’t even know where to start with that.”

Tom hurried up, leaning over his desk and staring down at some paperwork Greg had brought in earlier. He remembered the heat of Greg’s long body against his when they’d gone to that club; the muscle of Greg’s forearm, his shoulder, under his hands; the taste of Greg’s puffed breath and the bones in his neck when Tom had tackled him into the snow, the day of—

He imagined falling into the snow with Greg—what if he hadn’t caught himself, hadn’t run off? What if he’d kissed Greg then, cold wet melting into their clothes? What if Greg had let him grind himself against his embarrassingly oversized body? What if Greg had reached his massive warm hands under his clothes, jerked him off lying there on the ground?

Tom bit his cheek when he came, hard enough to bleed, and Gerri chuckled and scoffed, standing and straightening her skirt before he even looked up from his desk.

“Well, Tom, this has been a truly awful experience. Don’t forget part 2 of our little agreement, yeah? Fire Ravenhead. I don’t care how you do it—get him the fuck out.” She stopped by the door, and Tom looked up to see a glimpse of her smirk. “I’ll send in your assistant to help you get cleaned up.”

“Fuck—God—Gerri, no, please don’t—” Tom sputtered, one hand useless and covered in cum and the other flailing to zip himself up without catching his softening dick in the metal teeth. Of course she left his office door open, and of course Greg loped in looking worried moments later, while Tom was trying to tissue cum off his hand under the desk.

“Not now, Greg! Jesus, could you knock?”

“The door was open, Tom? And Gerri said you—”

“Get the fuck out, Greg! Get out! And shut the fucking door behind you. Fucking Christ.”

Fifteen minutes until his meeting with Ravenhead. Fifteen minutes to figure out how to get rid of a frankly frighteningly well-liked personality, which any way you sliced it would piss off his boss, his father-in-law. Fifteen minutes to get the smell of cum out of his office and the sickening coil of humiliation out of his gut and the remnant image of Greg’s hand on his dick out of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Re dubcon: Gerri comes into Tom's office while he's jerking off and tells him to continue. He acknowledges mentally that he could say no but that it'd be "admitting defeat" to do that, so he keeps on.
> 
> Two motivations for writing this fic: 1. "Tom and Gerri"? Hello? (the title is borrowed from an old Tom and Jerry episode.) and 2. I adore Tom Wambsgans, and I think an essential part of adoring Tom Wambsgans is the delightful schadenfreude of watching him be absolutely eviscerated by women. Sorry, Tom <3
> 
> I wasn't 100% sure how to tag this so tried to err on the side of caution. If you think I should change/add any tags, feel free to dm me: I'm on Twitter at [@van1lla_v1lla1n](https://twitter.com/van1lla_v1lla1n) and Tumblr at [@van1lla-v1lla1n](https://van1lla-v1lla1n.tumblr.com/).


End file.
